Windfall
by Mortuis1
Summary: Little Joe, a sixth grade student, finds a treasure trove of Adam's old school books, papers, and reports. Seems a shame to let all that good learning just go to waste, so the 11 year old engages in a bit of clandestine recycling. Warning: Student learns about the relationship between a teacher's paddle and the concept of plagiarism. Includes OC's the Fletcher family.
1. Too Good to Be True

**Too Good to Be True**

It was 2:45 on Friday afternoon, as Little Joe squirmed on the bench seat of his classroom desk. He didn't have any good reason to be squirming... yet. But he knew, as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow, that he'd be squirming a lot pretty soon, whether at his desk, on his horse, or sitting down for supper. It all just didn't seem fair. And Pa wasn't even home, but off in Carson City for the Annual Cattlemen's Association conference. He'd been gone all week, and wasn't expected back until Sunday.

Adam was in San Francisco, negotiating on some lumber contracts for the railroads, and Hoss was in charge as far as Little Joe was concerned. Generally speaking, that was a good thing. Hoss was so easy going that as long as he got his chores done, didn't sass back or argue about his bedtime or doing his homework, and didn't break any major rules or get a note home from school, Hoss gave the 11 year old his head and he had a lot more freedom than normal. Even if he did forget himself and backtalk, Hoss was a lot more likely to just set his nose in the corner for half an hour than swat him. Joe suspected he was afraid of his own strength if Joe ever earned a spanking. But this time... well, he wasn't sure how this was going to work out at all.

It had all seemed so simple at first. Miss Jones was following a recommended curriculum that required students in Little Joe's grade and upwards to write reports, essays, and book reports. Little Joe hated writing reports. He didn't mind the reading so much, especially that fellow Clements, or Poe, and some of the Nathanial Hawthorne stories were rippers. But he hated having to write about any of it. And writing stuff about history was just a torture to him. When he hadn't found too much to use on the bookshelves around the house, he'd asked Adam if he had anything helpful. Adam thought a bit, then said he had a trunk out in the storage shed that may have some of his old schoolbooks in it. Maybe Joe would find something in there.

So one day a couple months ago, Little Joe finished his chores, went out to the old shed, and found the trunk stored up in the rafters. He got it down, opened it up, and felt like an explorer who'd just found a pirate's treasure hoard. Not only had Adam stored up books from all through his later school years, but... since he was such an all fired scholar bound for college... he'd actually LIKED writing reports and essays, comparisons and contrasts, and critical reviews and such. In fact, he had notebooks, copybooks, FILLED with his drafts, outlines, thinking about dozens of different things. Joe just sat there, dumbstruck, leafing through page after page of stuff he wouldn't have written if you held a fire to his feet, that Adam just seemed to delight in speculating about. No miser so greedily hoarded gold and jewels, as Joe carried those books and journals up to his room, settling them into his own bookshelf and desk. He knew he'd struck the motherlode, the El Dorado of school treasure, and he'd never have to sweat any of these assignments ever again.

For weeks he had turned in these works, carefully edited down to take out all the big words Adam knew, but Joe didn't. He never bothered to read through the actual works being discussed, but sorta skimmed through them a bit so he'd look like he knew them if Miss Jones ever asked him anything. The improvement in his English, Composition, Spelling, and Grammar marks was dramatic and pleased Pa no end. Of course, he said nothing about his new found academic wealth, but just basked in the praise he received for having turned over a new leaf and now studying so hard.

But then, somehow, it all seemed to go hideously wrong. Last week he'd turned in all his assignments, gotten good grades on them and everything seemed fine. Except, Miss Jones asked him a couple questions about the material on his reports, and he'd thought he'd handled it pretty well. But then Monday, when they all started studying Civics and Social Studies, Miss Jones said they were going to consider the topic of "Corruption and Cheating" for this week. Each grade level got its own topic to study and write about. Younger grades had stuff like "Copying", "Crib Notes", "Passing Notes and Talking", about cheating on tests. The big grades had some things on "Gerrymandering", "Ballot Box Stuffing", and "Bribery" about government. His grade, the 6th grade form, had "Plagiarism" as a topic. He'd had to go look up the term and write down the definition, then do a 500 word essay on it to turn in on Wednesday. He found this a most uncomfortable assignment.

After Miss Jones collected all the essays Wednesday, there had been a lively class discussion about cheating in general. How it was a form of both lying and stealing at the same time. Cheating made a false statement about what you knew or what work you had done, or - in government - what people thought or wanted. At the same time, cheating stole time and work of one person, giving credit to someone else who didn't do the work. Miss Jones asked the class if they liked being lied to, or having someone steal something from them. Of course, no one did. Then she asked how any of them felt if or when they were called a liar, a thief, or a cheat. This roused the masses with mighty indignation. Nobody wanted to be labelled that way. She then pointed out that, especially in places like theirs, the Nevada Territory, still being settled, where neighbors had to be able to rely one one another just to survive... a person's word, their good name and integrity, was worth its weight in gold. When someone's handshake was a promise as solid as a signature at law... folks could count on one another when times were hard. This was critically important for a place like Virginia City, and she was proud to say that all her neighbors were honorable people of integrity, and she was certain all her students were, too.

Little Joe had a serious problem by the end of school Wednesday. He was starting to feel he may have made an error of judgment. He'd always known what he was doing was wrong... else he wouldn't have hidden it so carefully. But he hadn't really thought any of this through. It just seemed "fortuitous", to use one of Adam's big words. Like a windfall of fruit or firewood after a storm. He hadn't figgered it made him a liar, or a thief, or even a cheat. Card sharps and cheats got shot. He didn't want to be one of them.

But what could he do? He couldn't even count how many of Adam's pieces he'd turned in and gotten credit for. And he knew the penalty in school for cheating, and it was harsh. If you got caught cheating on a test, you took a Zero for the grade, you got kept after school writing lines, you took swats with Miss Jones' wicked school paddle, and a note got sent home telling what you did. For almost all of his schoolmates, that meant getting another thrashing from your pa when you got home. Oh, and then you had to redo the work on your own. Yup, by the end of school Wednesday, Little Joe felt downright sick.

Joe had wanted to talk this through with somebody, but Pa was out of town as was Adam, and he didn't feel like Hoss could be much help. Besides, he couldn't tell Hoss, or he might think he had to tell Pa. No, he needed to talk to someone else. He'd always found the town preacher, Pastor Fletcher, easy to talk to. Billy Fletcher, the preacher's son, was about his best friend in town. Together, they'd gotten in a lot of mischief now and again. The Fletchers were kind, hard working, and a lot like Pa and Marie - Little Joe's ma. Of course Joe's ma had died in a riding accident years before, but she always seemed to know what to do or say to make things better when he was upset or hurt. Mrs. Fletcher was a lot like that, too, always ready to listen with a cookie or glass of milk, if Joe needed to talk to someone or if he was looking for Pastor Fletcher and he wasn't around.

So that Wednesday, after school, Little Joe caught up with Billy and asked, "Is your pa at home this afternoon?"

"Yeah, he should be home, or he will be pretty soon. He was going up to the Spencer's ranch to tend their horses this morning. They'd thrown some shoes and needed their hooves trimmed, but that shouldn't have taken him too long. Their remuda isn't that big," Billy answered.

Mr. Fletcher was a farrier, a kind of blacksmith that worked on horseshoes and their hooves more than just making things from iron. The town had a Blacksmith that could do all kinds of things: fabricating equipment, repairing things, making hoops for wheels or barrels, toolmaking, hinges, nails, lots of stuff... even horseshoes. But Mr. Fletcher worked with him, and was an expert on horses and how they moved, so's if a horse needed a special shoe built up on one side because of an injury or something, he knew just what to do and how to tend all sorts of leg and hoof ailments.

"What's up, Joe? Why do you need my dad?" Billy asked, not unkindly.

"Oh, nothin' really. I just wanted to know what he'd think about something. I just want to talk a bit. Nothing important," Joe answered, with a fretful look.

Billy knew the look, and the feeling, well. His dad was really nice and easy to talk to, especially if something was bothering you. Billy and Joe had a kind of unspoken agreement. Billy found Mr. Cartwright just as easy to talk to as Joe found his dad. Sometimes, a guy just needed to talk things out with a grownup they didn't live with. Like having an uncle nearby. So, when something was bothering Joe, he'd often take some time to walk and talk with Mr. Fletcher. The same thing went for Billy and Mr. Cartwright. The boys didn't tease one another, or make any big deal out of this. It just seemed to make growing up a little easier for them. So Billy said nothing more about it, as Joe rode Cochise alongside Billy as they headed towards the Fletcher's house, alongside the church.

"Well, I better be seeing about my chores, Joe. Catch you later. Looks like Dad is home, I see his wagon in the barn," Billy pointed to the farrier's equipment wagon his dad used when he went out on a call.

A moment later, Pastor Fletcher walked out from the barn into the sunlight, mopping sweat from his brow with a big red handkerchief. He was wearing his denim overalls on a union suit unbuttoned halfway down his chest. You could tell the man had been hard at work, probably at his forge before the boy's arrived.

A broad smile greeted them as Mr. Fletcher said, "Ah, welcome home Billy, and hey there Joseph. Good to see you. I was just about to take a little break. Care to share some lemonade with me? I think Mrs. Fletcher may have just made some cookies... I been smelling them all afternoon."

"Thanks, Dad," Billy said, shaking his head with a smile. "I think I'm gonna take care of my chores first, but I bet Joe would be glad to join you for a bit." Billy exchanged a knowing glance with his father, clearing the way for him and Joe to have some private time. Mr. Fletcher understood, tousled his firstborn's hair with a laugh, and patted him on the shoulder in thanks for making his job so much easier with his understanding.

"Right, then, Joe. What say we go sit down a spell?" as he indicated a table and some chairs on the side of their porch. "I'll be right back," he said, heading over to a washstand to clean his hands and face.

Hearing the voices and her husband's boots on the porch, Mrs. Fletcher came out the screen door from the house, bearing a pitcher filled with cool lemonade, and a tray with some glasses and a big platter of three different kinds of cookie.

"Howdy, Joseph. Good to see you," she smiled, with that gift she had of always making a visitor feel welcome. Every now and again, seeing her smile or feeling her hug him from time to time, his heart twinged with an instant of grief for his ma. But he knew, sure as he's stood up from his seat when this lady came outside, he knew his _maman_ was in heaven and happy. Maybe that's one reason he liked the Fletcher's so much. They talked about heaven like it was just over in the next county, and seemed totally comfortable with stuff about God and the Bible that just seemed to frighten ordinary folk. They helped Joe feel much better about his ma, and that he was sure to see her again. "There you go, gentlemen," she said, putting everything down on the table for them. I'm a bit busy getting supper ready, so I'll just leave you men to talk, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Thank you, ma'am," Joe said, as Mr. Fletcher walked over and gave his wife the briefest kiss on the cheek as she headed in the door. Both Joe and Mr. Fletcher sat down as the man poured lemonade for the both of them.

Quietly sliding the beverage and platter of cookies over towards Joe, Mr. Fletcher took out his pipe, tamped it down a bit, and lit it. He leaned back in his chair for a moment or two and just took a deep breath looking up at the sky, a picture of utter content.

"So, Joseph, what's brought you by today?" Mr. Fletcher smiled.

"Well, there's something bothering me. I'd like to talk about it, but... Well, sir, can you keep a secret?" Joe asked, with a worried tone.

"I certainly CAN, Joe. Pastors do that a lot, but it depends. Have you killed anybody?"

"No, sir. Of course not!" Joe answered.

"Have you hurt anybody, or do you intend to hurt or kill anybody?"

"No, sir," Joe shook his head.

"Then I can keep your secret. Spill it," Mr. Fletcher smiled as he took a long sip of his lemonade.

Confident that he was in a safe place, Joe told the Pastor all about his situation. How he'd found Adam's stash and used it. How he'd enjoyed getting the improved grades he'd had since he started. How proud Pa seemed to be at all this. And then how this week's lessons were making him feel bad, because he'd never thought about what he was doing as really "cheating", and he hated to think he was a liar or a thief. He was simply not a happy little boy at all.

Long moments of silence passed when Joe finished his recitation, as Mr. Fletcher just sat back puffing slowly on his pipe.

"I see," he finally said. "Well that sounds like you're in a tough situation, Joe. What are you feeling? What do you feel like you want to do?"

"I feel bad. I ain't a thief or a liar, at least I've never thought I was. If I've been cheating I want to stop and make it right, but..." his voice trailed off.

"But... you're afraid to 'fess up?" Mr. Fletcher said, as he watched Joe nod miserably. "Are you afraid because you're ashamed and don't want to be embarrassed? Or is it that you've done wrong and don't want to be punished?"

"Both, sir. I don't know exactly how I feel. I know I feel scared a bit. But also I feel... well, just... wrong. Like 'dirty' or something."

"Is your conscience bothering you, Joe? Like when you've gotten mad and hurt somebody's feelings, and then you calm down and feel bad about it?"

"I dunno. How can you tell when your conscience is telling you you done something wrong? How can I separate it from being scared of just being found out as a cheater, and being scared of the punishment?"

"Well, first off... Thank you, Joe, for trusting me enough to come and talk, and realizing that you don't have to be embarrassed to talk to me. I won't tell on you or betray your secret. And I am not judging you, or angry, or disappointed, or any of that. I just feel really complimented that you feel you can rely on me and my advice. So thank you for that. Second, your feelings are totally natural and make sense. If you have cheated, and that comes out, you're likely to be punished and it makes perfect sense to be a bit fearful of that. Don't be ashamed of feeling scared about it. Punishment is meant to be fearful, and your concerns are totally appropriate.

"But now for the more important question you've asked, how do you know when you've done 'wrong'? It's not that hard, Joe. For me, I've found that when I feel an urge to hide something, rather than leave it out in the open, I may be doing something wrong. Not like keeping someone's private matters a secret... we're all entitled to the privacy of our thoughts. But when I DO something, and as I'm doing it I say to myself ... 'I can get away with this... No one will ever know,' then I'm usually doing something wrong. And believe me, I've done such things. We all have."

A few more moments passed, as Joe pondered these words.

"So..." Joe began, "maybe this sick feeling I've got, is just my conscience telling me I'm wrong? I've been doing wrong? And that's why I've wanted to hide this?"

"I dunno, Joe. What do YOU think? I can't feel what's in your heart. Only you can. Let me ask you this. This has only bothered you this week because of the lessons you've been doing in school. Is it possible that before you really thought through this cheating thing, you were able to just set aside the question so it didn't bother you? But now that you've had time to think about it, analyze it, write about it, you've become convinced that what you were doing was cheating? So that's why it bothers you now, but didn't before?"

"Yessir, that's it exactly," Joe nodded, with a bit of relief.

"OK, then am I hearing you say that you're NOW convinced that what you were doing was cheating, and you were doing wrong? I'm just checking if I'm understanding you right. I'm not accusing you of anything."

Joe nodded, "I know. And yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I been cheating, and it was wrong. But now... but now I don't know what to do about it."

"Well I can surely understand that, Joseph. I've been in that place, too, and it's a tough spot to get out of," Pastor Fletcher nodded as he spoke in a calm comforting voice. "So, let's run through the possibilities. What could you do, what can you do, from where things stand?"

"Well, I could ignore it, and hope everything just blows over," Joe suggested hopefully.

"Indeed you could. Would you continue to submit the same kind of material, however?"

"Prolly not. I don't think I could be OK with that," Joe shook his head.

"All right. What else could you do?"

"I could tell Teacher what I done," Joe said, looking down at his toes.

"Right," Mr. Fletcher said, "I agree, those are your two possibilities, all right. You can either ignore the situation and hope for the best, while you feel fearful and ashamed or embarrassed about it all along. Or you can own up to the situation and correct it. Now, for the first option, you could have two possible outcomes, right? What could happen if you ignore all this?"

"Well, it could be that Miss Jones has figured out what I've done, and she could confront me with it. Then I'd be forced either to lie, or to admit it. If she could prove her case, and I was caught lying... or if I admitted it... either way, I'd be found out and I'd be punished. On the other hand, if I just come out and admit what I've done without her confronting me, at least I'd get credit for volunteering. The punishment may not be so harsh."

"Well thought through, Joseph. That takes care of the practical matter of punishment and your options. Now, what about what you would feel in either of those cases?" Mr. Fletcher asked gently.

"No question about it. If I step forward and admit what I've done on my own, I'd feel a lot better than if she has to confront me. It's just... just that I'd be in so much trouble. Pa'd be so disappointed, not to mention how embarrassing it would be to admit this to Miss Jones."

Joe just sat staring at his lemonade for a long time. Mr. Fletcher didn't say anything, letting the boy alone with his own thoughts. "I feel like such a heel. Mr. Fletcher?"

"Yes, Joseph," he answered, puffing calmly on his pipe.

"What do YOU think? Are you disappointed in me, sir?" Joe spoke just above a whisper, not daring to look the man in the eye.

"No, Joseph. Not at all," he smiled, shaking his head. "It's not like you went out of your way seeking a way to cheat in school. As you say, you were suddenly presented with a 'windfall', a shortcut to quick and easy good grades without a lot of work. That's a bushel full of temptation for a young lad not too excited about school and writing. And you gave in, taking advantage of what seemed like a gift. Was it wrong? I don't have to answer that, do I?"

Joe shook his head a bit miserably. "No, sir."

"But," the pastor continued, "does that mean I can't imagine ever doing the same thing? Or can I judge you harshly as if I haven't cut a corner or two in my own time? Nope. Everybody gives in to temptation once in a while, Joe. Especially if we haven't fully realized how wrong it is. The measure of a man isn't whether they've fallen a time or two, but what they do when they fall. Whether you choose to 'fess up or not, I'm not going to judge you or think less of you. But I CAN tell you this... you'll almost certainly judge yourself harshly, and think less of yourself."

"Yup," Joe looked up. "I think you're right. I can't let this go. But... what about the punishment? I'm gonna get paddled by Miss Jones, and for sure I'll get a hiding from Pa as well. You know how it is, I know Billy has the same rule."

"True," Mr. Fletcher nodded, "if you get paddled in school, you'll get a hiding at home, too. I don't know that there's any way around the problem, Joseph. If it's any comfort to you, though, I can tell you three things," he smiled and patted Joe encouragingly on the shoulder.

"What's that, sir?" Joe smiled, appreciating the comfort.

"One, I grew up with the same rule, and I've been in EXACTLY the same situation you're in. Two, I learned from that, and when I 'fessed up to doing something wrong on my own, it ALWAYS reduced the punishment. Three, if it would help you get through this, I'd be glad to go with you when you talk to Miss Jones. Sometimes it's just easier to face the music when somebody's on your side."

Joe looked much relieved as he turned to Mr. Fletcher, "Thanks a lot for that, sir. But I'll do this on my own. I've decided, I can't keep on this way, so I'll tell Miss Jones the truth tomorrow." Joe stood up, taking a cookie as he did. "Thank you so much for your time, and please thank Mrs. Fletcher for the cookies and lemonade. I feel an awful lot better, though I'm still a little scared. But I can do this. I need to get on home and get my chores done for now, but I'll tell Miss Jones I want to talk to her after school tomorrow, and we'll get things sorted out. I'll be all right, sir."

"I know you will, Joseph. I'm very proud of you, as I know Miss Jones and your Pa will be, as well. For what it's worth, just remember this quote, 'The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man dies but once.' I promise, whatever the consequences of your owning up, you'll feel a whole lot better than you did when you got here today." Pastor Fletcher stood up and gave Joe a quick hug around the shoulders.

Joe quickly turned to hug him back around the waist, before turning to untie Cochise and ride home. He'd ridden here from the schoolhouse with a bucket of lead in his stomach. Now, riding home, he certainly felt a bunch of butterflies there instead, but that seemed 100 times better than the alternatives. He'd decided, he'd been hided before when he'd earned it, no doubt he would again. But that was nothing to be so scared of that he made himself into a liar, a thief, or a cheat. Nope, that was not for him.

Tomorrow, he'd face down his demons.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I enjoy the Bonanza universe, and hope you like some of these short sniglets that bounce past my mental movie screen from time to time. Please feel free to comment and/or review. Thanks for reading, hopefully enjoying! Grace to you, Gentle Reader! - Mort_


	2. Day of Reckoning

**Day of Reckoning**

Thursday morning, Joe left for school a few minutes early. He wanted the time to make an appointment with Miss Jones. He also wore his long-tailed shirt, his thickest long johns, and his heaviest denim pants, just in case. After talking to Pastor Fletcher the prior afternoon, he'd decided to come clean about his submitting all those reports and essays he'd recycled from Adam's work years before. He still felt a bit ashamed of himself, but his embarrassment was overshadowed by his sense of heroism at admitting his wrongdoing and daring the consequences. Somehow, his self image had transmuted from being a "craven heel" to something vastly more "noble".

Joseph arrived at the schoolyard, took off his saddle and bridle, putting them on the rack behind the schoolhouse where a small paddock let him release Cochise for the day. There was no reason for students' horses and ponies stand under tack for six unnecessary hours, rather than just relax with a halter on, with hay and water to enjoy. Finished, he knocked quietly on the classroom's back door, as he watched Miss Jones writing assignments and information on the blackboards, preparing for class.

She turned at his knock, smiled when she saw him, and said, "Yes, Joseph, what is it? Come in," as she turned back to putting up her notes.

"Miss Jones?" he began, walking towards her. "Are you available to speak with me after school today? I'd like to talk to you about something."

He could not see her smile as she finished posting her materials. "Yes, I'm free after school. I'll be glad to make an appointment with you. What do you want to talk about?"

"Um..." Joe hesitated, "just some school stuff, Miss. I'd rather wait until then to talk about it."

"All right, Joseph, that will be fine. Your father is out of town this week, isn't he? And your brother Adam as well?"

"Yes, Miss. Pa should be back Sunday night. Hoss is looking out for me til then."

"Well, that will be fine, Joe. We'll talk after school then," she said, turning to smile at him with a dismissive nod towards the front door so he could go play until she rang the bell to start class.

The school day passed for Joe with a very weird sense of time. Sometimes, Joe looked at the clock and it barely felt like time was moving at all. Then other moments, it felt like the day was racing to a close. He didn't know if he was waiting for a paddling or not, and the closer it came to three o'clock the more his seat and legs seemed to feel tingly or numb. He felt more and more fearful as the day progressed, until about 2:30 when he took a really deep breath and decided to just quit worrying about it. He'd pulled pranks and tricks before, and even gotten into fights, knowing ahead of time he'd get his britches tanned. This wasn't any worse than that, so he'd just hold his nerve and trust everything would work out all right.

Three o'clock finally came, Miss Jones dismissed the class and the children all left. He just sat quietly at his desk as Miss Jones had walked other students out the door. Calmly she came back, sat down behind her desk, folded her hands, looked at him with a calm friendly expression, and said, "There we go, Joseph. Now, what did you want to speak to me about?"

Joe realized his throat had never been so dry before, as he started to speak and could only muster a raspy croak. Clearly, he couldn't have this conversation sitting down, so he stood up and tried again. "Miss Jones?" he managed to say. "I need to talk to you because I've done something wrong. I didn't realize quite how wrong it was until the assignments we've been doing this week, but now that I know, I knew I needed to tell you. I didn't mean to be... I mean I didn't really think of it as cheating... but I've been turning in work that was actually my brother Adam's from years ago. I'm really sorry, Miss. I won't do it any more."

"Well first thing, Joseph, let me thank you. It takes real character to own up when you've done something wrong, and I appreciate your honesty very much," she smiled and nodded with her approval.

Joe felt very relieved to see her take his admission this way. He didn't feel near as embarrassed and ashamed as he did a minute ago.

"Now, Joe, what you did was very wrong. You know that, right?" she asked, gently.

"Yes'm," he nodded, looking at his toes.

"You've been doing this quite a while, yes?" she saw him nod. "How many of your reports or essays have been Adam's?" she asked.

"I don't know for sure. It's been quite a few, though," he answered, honestly.

"It's eleven, Joe. Eleven of your reports and essays were Adam's. As time has gone by, I've noticed how much more mature this writing is than your verbal answers or test responses. So last Friday I took these eleven papers over to Mrs. Wilson's house, Adam's former teacher, to ask if they looked familiar to her. She recognized them as his work, and that's why we've been studying dishonesty this week. I wondered if it would prompt you to speak with me."

"Oh," Joe said, a bit deflated.

"Don't get me wrong, Joe, I still give you full marks for your honor and honesty in admitting this to me, without my asking you about it. That goes VERY far with me. I'd sooner my students learn integrity and character than any rule of math or grammar. So, we'll just consider this as full credit for you, all right?"

Joe smiled as he nodded.

"But now, we need to figure out how to move forward from here. These are eleven separate assignments, Joe. Do you acknowledge, freely, that you have cheated on these assignments?"

"Yes'm," Joe nearly whispered.

"I didn't hear you. What was that?" she prompted.

"Yes, Miss," Joe said more clearly.

"So I have here eleven separate episodes of your cheating, is that right?" she said, as she stacked his separated assignments in front of them on her desk.

Joe gulped as he saw the implications here, but he was already committed. No point trying to back out now. "Yes, Miss."

"Have I been clear about cheating, and its consequences in this class?" she asked, her voice still gentle, but brooking no foolishness.

"Yes, Miss," Joe held his voice steady as he started doing the math in his head.

"Very well. THIS then," she placed one hand on the stack of Joe/Adam's work, "is now counted as a Zero in my grade book. That is going to drop your grades in five subjects to a high D or low C. That would not be a Report Card I know you want to take home." Miss Jones knew the Cartwrights well, and their viewpoint on both scholarship and school deportment. "Certainly not when grades that low are due to malfeasance. THEREFORE, I have written a paragraph on each of these works, asking a topic question and giving some direction on how to answer it. You are to take these home with you, and using the resources Adam originally used for these works, write YOUR OWN essay or report responding to what I've asked. Is that clear, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Yes, Miss," Joe answered, gratefully.

"You will be required to do twice the work it originally called for, that is 1000 word reports and essays, where the first time it was only 500. Also, they will all be marked down one full grade point. That is, if you earn an A on a paper, it will only be credited a B, and so forth. Don't even think about turning in a D level paper. It will just give you another F. Is THAT understood?"

"Yes'm," Joe answered, a bit discouraged.

"I am going to forego your sitting here in detention and writing lines. I consider your courage in admitting this on your own, and staying after school for this discussion, to be an adequate exercise in lieu of that punishment. All right?"

"Yes'm," Joe nodded, feeling a bit better.

"But now, to the crux of the matter... This is hard for me. You've earned a paddling, and a note home. Now, I know your pa's rule about getting punished in school. If I paddle you here, you're going to be hided when you get home, aren't you?"

"Yes'm, or at least I will be when Pa gets home and reads your note," Joe nodded a bit sadly, though resigned.

"I'm sure it's no surprise to you, Joe, that many of our students live with that same rule, as did I when I grew up, and I appreciate it, as does any teacher. Parents affirming and reinforcing a teacher maintaining discipline makes our classrooms and lives much safer and easier. At the same time, however, I give GREAT credit to your having owned up to this simply as a matter of conscience, not because you were caught. This is also complicated by the fact that it's not just a single episode of cheating, like copying off a neighbor's test paper. Plagiarism is a more subtle form of cheating than most, a lot easier to rationalize to yourself than copying or making cheat notes. Against that is the number of incidents. So it's hard for me to determine what's fair to you, as a paddling. What do you think about it? How many swats do you think you should receive, since it's your conscience that's hurting on this?"

Joe could hardly breathe. How could his teacher ask him, "how many swats?" He desperately wanted to say something like... "Two". But he shook his head at the thought. That would be silly. So he seriously tried to think the question through. He tried to think like his Pa, or like Pastor Fletcher. He figured, if he was taking a licking from either of them, he'd be looking at 10 to 20 licks for this. And he figured they'd be hitting him a lot harder than Miss Jones. She was just a "slip of a thing" as people say. Her paddle was pretty mean, and he'd heard it applied a time or two, but it didn't sound as bad as a belt whupping, and guys who got it didn't usually cry out or limp afterwards. Finally, he thought about how bad he was feeling to be a liar, or thief, or cheat. Putting that all together...

"Ten, Miss. I think I deserve about ten swats for this. Or maybe, eleven, if you want to do one for each assignment," he declared with a clear tone of voice.

Miss Jones looked at him with a bit of surprise. "Really, Joe? I was thinking more like five. Eleven swats with my paddle is enough to be memorable for quite a while. I've never given that many here before."

"I'll be more than happy if you don't, Miss. But you asked what I felt like I deserve, and that's my honest answer. Like you said, it wasn't just once. And it wasn't like I didn't hide it from the beginning, so Pastor Fletcher said that's one way to know something is wrong from the front. I'd take at least that from Pa, or even from Adam. Besides," Joe looked down with a bit of a smile, "maybe if I take a good waling from you with the paddle, my Pa might..." his voice trailed off.

"Go a bit lighter with his belt?" Miss Jones smiled as she completed his thought.

"Uh, huh," Joe nodded.

"I see. All right, I tell you what. I'm going to think about this a mite. I want you to do the same. You head on home for now, and take these with you. Get started on the make up work tonight. I'd like one of these... any one you choose... turned in tomorrow. After school tomorrow, I will paddle you and write the note for your Pa. It's a terrible punishment to have to wait for punishment, but you've earned it by repeating this fault for so many weeks. Come prepared to stay after school tomorrow, and ride your softest saddle unless you want to have Hoss drive you. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," Joe nodded, with tremendously mixed feelings. It was a great relief to know he was not going to get paddled with that thing that hung on the wall behind her desk... at least not right this minute. But it was awful knowing that he'd be feeling it tomorrow, sure enough.

"All righty then, on your way!" she said, as she stood to start getting her things in order to head home and Joe headed for the back door to saddle Cochise. "And Joseph," she interrupted him on the way as he turned to her, "This was very well done, young man. I'm very proud of you. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Miss Jones. I'll be here," he sighed, and made his way out the door.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I enjoy the Bonanza universe, and hope you like some of these short sniglets that bounce past my mental movie screen from time to time. Please feel free to comment and/or review. Thanks for reading, hopefully enjoying! Grace to you, Gentle Reader! - Mort_


	3. Swings Like a Girl

**Swings Like a Girl**

Friday morning, first thing, Joe put his revised and rewritten report into his saddlebag for school. Taking Miss Jones' advice, after breakfast Joe saddled Cochise with his suede quilted parade saddle along with two saddle blankets beneath. In a pinch he could use one of them to pad the saddle seat on his way home. It wouldn't be as effective as a cushion, but it took quite a bit of the sting off a sore behind when necessary. Miss Jones seemed pretty nice about the whole thing. But he was putting more of his hope on her slender arms, hoping she'd be "ladylike" delivering her swats.

He did fine on his Friday tests, spelling, math, and grammar. He enjoyed recess and lunch, mostly. Billy, his best friend, could tell that there was something wrong, and kept asking if everything was ok. Joe said yeah, everything was fine, but he didn't want to talk about it yet. He'd explain everything later. He didn't think he could bear the discussion before matters were finished. He was still way more nervous about settling up with Pa, than with Miss Jones.

Finally the school day, the entire school week, came to a close. He just stood up and fussed around about putting his books and papers away as the other students headed out the door. He didn't want to call attention to the fact that he was staying after school, and Miss Jones didn't say anything about it, so no one noticed. He saw Billy hanging back outside, probably waiting for him to come out, so he went out to him to quietly let him know he wasn't coming for a while.

"You might want to tell your dad for me, I've talked to Miss Jones about what we were discussing. I'll let him know how everything turned out next week."

"Oh, ok, Joe," Billy said. "I'll just head on home then?"

"Yeah, Billy. And thanks. Everything's ok, don't worry," Joe gave a wan smile, hearing what seemed to be a metronome ticking in his head, as he approached his doom. He walked back into the school house, wondering if this is how prisoners felt ascending the 13 steps of a scaffold before being hanged.

Miss Jones was sitting patiently at her desk with her hands folded, waiting for Joe to come stand before her.

"Well, Mr. Cartwright, thank you for doing your homework. I want three more next week. One Monday, that you do this weekend, one Wednesday, and one Friday. We will keep that up until they are all replaced, is that clear?"

"Yes, Miss," Joe answered.

"Good. Now, have you considered the question of an appropriate paddling since we spoke yesterday?"

"Yes, Miss," Joe answered, in low tones.

"And, do you still feel eleven swats is a just and fair punishment?"

"Yes, Miss," Joe took a deep breath as he spoke.

"Very well," she said with resolve as she got up, closed both schoolhouse doors, looked outside to be sure no one was dawdling nearby, and closed the windows so that sound would not carry. She then moved her armless chair out into the center of her teaching space and instructed Joe to take down the paddle from the wall and hand it to her, as she sat down.

Joe's heart was pounding through his ribs as he lifted down the paddle that felt all too heavy to him, though it was less than a half inch thick, and oval shaped, about the size of a child's seat, with a comfortable knurled handle that balanced the weight for an easy swing. He could barely breathe as he handed it to her.

"Joseph, why are you being paddled?" she asked, as he stood there in front of her.

"Because I cheated on my schoolwork, plagiarizing reports done by my older brother and passing them off as my own," he answered, clearly and honestly.

"Thank you, Joseph, now bend over," and she guided him across her knee.

"Swat!" the paddle made contact with Joe's work pants as they lay slack across his backside.

"Swat!" the second swat came down, barely making an impression through the three thick layers of padding Joe had arranged to protect his derriere this afternoon.

"Swat!" came a third blow, now making Joe feel even more guilty as he took this paddling without feeling even a hearty spank from it.

Finally he said, "Excuse me, Miss Jones?" as he stared at the floor beyond her left leg.

Miss Jones was not accustomed to being interrupted by a student during their paddling, but she paused politely to acknowledge him. "Yes, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Um, if you like, I could step inside and take down my pants and drawers. My shirt tail reaches below my knees in case you... um... in case..."

The teacher refrained from laughing as she realized his dilemma, and again had to admire his integrity. "I see. Are you intimating that this paddling is not really making the 'full impression' you believe you need?"

"Well, um, I don't really want to say too much that way, Miss. But, I 'spect you're looking for a bit more here, and I don't want to cheat on this, too. It just don't seem right."

"Again, young sir, I respect your character and integrity. Stand up, please," and she paused as he did so. "This is my way for paddling young students, the ones in primary school for whom just the event itself and the sound is frightening enough to impress them with my displeasure. No, Joseph, you need not adjust your clothing. Instead, I shall adjust my technique. I paddle older students, generally boys, in a far more assertive manner, that I believe will satisfy your concerns. One moment." She stood up, returned her chair to her desk, then pointed at the front center student desk with the paddle, saying, "Joseph, bend over that desk right there facing the back of the room, and grip the other edge with your hands."

Joe did as he was instructed and found he was in a far more vulnerable position than he had been. There was no slack whatever to his jeans, and his sit spots were significantly more accessible. He could only hope that she did indeed "swing like a girl" 'cause if she knew how to handle that paddle, he was gonna get tanned good.

"Ah, I forgot, Joseph. You say your shirttail reaches to your knees?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Then pull your shirt out of your britches please."

Joe had a really sinking feeling as he complied.

"Thank you," she said, folding his shirt tail up over his lower back. He was down to just drawers and pants, both drawn tight across his backside.

"Joseph, you will please count the swats out loud to me. I won't proceed until you count, so this will be as fast or slow as you determine. Do you understand?"

"Yes'm" Joe nodded, gripping the far edge of the desk.

"Do not cuss, let go of the desk, kick, or throw your hands back. If you do any of those things, the swat will be repeated. Is that clear?"

"Yes'm" Joe closed his eyes, beginning to think he may have made a serious error of judgment.

"Joseph, did you steal information and work done by your brother Adam, reworking it as your own?"

"Yes'm, I did."

 **"SWAT!"** a full-swing whap sent a thousand bees and hornets crashing into Joe's backside.

 _"OWwww!"_ Joe whined, as he gasped with the fire in his britches. He held on to the desk though, and didn't stand up or kick. After just breathing for quite a few seconds, Joe said, "ONE, Ma'am"

"Thank you. Joseph, did you lie presenting that information as your own, failing to give credit to Adam for the work?"

Joe tried to prepare himself, knowing what would happen when he answered this. "Yes'm, I did."

 **"SWAT!"** a second full-force swat ignited a royal fire beneath his drawers.

 _"YYyyeeeouch!"_ Joe whimpered, as tears began to spring at the corners of his eyes. He felt his backside sting, burn, and throb as he nearly lay on the desk. He tried shifting some weight from one foot to the other, seeking relief that refused to come. Once he felt a bit back in control, he said, "TWO, Ma'am"

"Thank you. Joseph, did you therefore cheat in this classroom, by plagiarizing your assignments and accepting good grades and credits, for work you did not do?"

It was torture, being bent over having to answer questions, knowing that once he did, he would take another blistering swat. Still, he knew he'd earned this, and he'd rather have his backside stinging, than feel like a liar or all the upset he'd felt for the past few days. So, strengthening his voice, he said, "Yes'm, I did."

 **"SWAT!"** came another heavy-handed thwap, though maybe not quite so hard as the first two were.

 _"Owhowhowhow..."_ Joe wailed, definitely dancing on his toes this time. Still, while it added fuel to the fire already burning brightly beneath his britches, this swat wasn't near as bad as the first two. He started to sniffle, as he turned his face on his sleeves to brush off the tears. He didn't want Miss Jones to see him cry. Getting himself back in control, he raised his head and said, "THREE, Ma'am".

Miss Jones smiled, shaking her head at this pupil. She'd had no intention whatever of delivering so stern a paddling this afternoon. But clearly, young Mr. Cartwright had a very firm standard in his mind for what he would consider "appropriate and adequate" punishment for his crimes, and to fall short of his own expectations of "just desserts" would leave him in his guilt. Now that she had taken him into the realm of "justice well and truly satisfied", she could again extend some mercy.

"Thank you. Do you regret your misbehavior and have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes'm, I have," Joe answered, readying himself with tightly closed eyes and fists.

She hauled her arm back to about a three-quarter swing, and **"SWAT!"** brought the varnished pine home.

 _"Owwww,"_ Joe yelped, clearly knowing that had been a lighter thwap, but still acutely aware of the cherry red hue doubtless blooming beneath his britches. He caught his breath a bit quicker than he had before, and thought he'd rather this finished sooner than later. "FOUR, Ma'am"

"Thank you. Now, young sir, are you ever going to cheat in this class again?"

"No ma'am, I'm not," Joe answered, and prepared for the worst.

 **"SWAT!"** as another three quarter whap set Joe's seat alight.

 _"Yeowch!"_ Joe whimpered, thinking to himself that he'd asked for 11 swats. _Was he out of his mind? Miss Jones sure as shootin' didn't swing like a girl. She knew just how to handle that paddle, and it was hitting right where he had to sit._ This was only the fifth swat, and he'd asked for 11. He wasn't even halfway through this licking. Six more of these, and there was no chance in the world that he could ride home... blanket or no blanket. He almost started to cry out of sheer despair. But instead just decided to "take his medicine like a man" as Pa said, and deal with whatever came. "FIVE, Ma'am", he said, in a clear voice.

"Thank you, Joe," Miss Jones said, in a kind voice. "You may stand up when you're ready."

Joe was so relieved he didn't know what to say. For a moment, he just let himself slump on the desk and dried his eyes on his sleeves, trying not to look like he was crying. He couldn't do a darned thing about the sniffles though, and he could feel the hiccups waiting just behind his tonsils.

Miss Jones put the paddle down on a different student desk, and said, "When you are ready, please put the paddle back on the wall. Although you may want to look at the back of it, and if you wish, sign it."

This piqued Joseph's curiosity, so he stood and picked up the wicked thing, then turned it over to see dozens upon dozens of names, printed and signed in script signature, on the back. One name he noticed... "Miss Abigail Jones", written in a childish scrawling script. He pointed at it with a bit of a smile, and turned to her with a quizzical look.

"Yes, Joe. My Pa fashioned that paddle years and years ago. He was a schoolmaster, too. I've made that sad trip to the barn many many times, learning right from wrong with the help of that thing. When he retired, and I started teaching, he gave it to me. It has helped me educate some of the finest young men and women in this territory, and I'm proud to have my name on there. But it's completely up to you, if you want to inscribe your name or not," she smiled and walked back to her desk. "When you are finished, please hang it up where it belongs," and she sat down to write her note for Ben Cartwright.

"Yes'm," Joe smiled, as he started to sit down at his desk to pull out his pen and nib, to write his name... then bounced back up standing as his seat hit the bench. He was perfectly happy to inscribe his name, but not at all ready to try to sit yet. When he finished signing his name in a little out of the way spot on the back, he hung it back up on the wall.

Miss Jones had finished writing the note, and sealed it in an envelope addressed to "Mr. Ben Cartwright". She gave instructions to Joe as he finished packing up his stuff. "Joseph, I want you to leave this note for your Pa where you know he'll see it, or have Hop Sing give it to him, Monday Morning after you've left for school. I've told him in the note that these are my instructions to you, so you're not sneaking anything and you won't be in trouble for doing as I say. But it's important to me that you be on your way to school by the time he reads it. I am asking him to come join us at the end of the school day, so that together we can tell him what's going on. I do not want him simply to think that you've gotten in trouble, and have him deal with you as he typically would in that case. Is that clear?"

"Yes'm, I understand." Joe nodded.

"Now, between now and Monday afternoon, I want you to think about whether the paddling you just took is sufficient. If you still feel like you need 11 swats, we will finish this Monday afternoon. But I don't mind if you decide these 5 were enough. If I paddle you again, it will be just like this was, so you are given fair warning. All right?" she spoke kindly, but clearly.

Little Joe nodded thoughtfully, "All right. And... thanks... for understanding."

"You're welcome, young man. Now, I saw the extra saddle pad. Think you can ride home OK?" she looked a bit concerned.

"Yes'm, I think so," Joe nodded and chuckled. "I'll sure feel it, right enough, but I took your advice and brought my suede saddle. Between that and the saddlepad I'll put on top, I'll get home all right."

"Very well then, Joe. You took your licks like a man. Now, get one of those reports done this weekend, and I'll see you Monday."

"Yes'm. You have a good weekend, too." Joe waved cheerily, as he headed for his horse and home.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I enjoy the Bonanza universe, and hope you like some of these short sniglets that bounce past my mental movie screen from time to time. Please feel free to comment and/or review. Thanks for reading, hopefully enjoying! Grace to you, Gentle Reader! - Mort_


	4. Parent Teacher Conference

**Parent Teacher Conference**

Ben Cartwright arrived home late Sunday evening, exhausted from a very demanding week. Little Joe was overjoyed that Pa would arrive past his bedtime, so there wouldn't be a lot of time for catch up discussion about what had been going on in his absence. Joe heard Pa ride in and put up his horse, then listened for his boots on the porch as he came in the front door. He waited a few minutes, to let Pa put his stuff down, put his feet up, and pour his typical cup of coffee after a long ride.

Joe crept out of bed, hearing Hoss and Pa's voices downstairs, deciding the time was right. Quick as a fox, he dashed down the stairs and headed straight for Pa in his big red chair.

Wearing a big smile on his face, he put his hand up to forestall the lecture on being out of bed, and said, "I know, Pa... I've gone to bed already, and I'm heading right back. But I've missed you all week, and I just wanted to give you a hug before I go back to sleep." So saying, good as his word, he gave Ben a big hug as his father just folded the boy into his arms.

"I've missed you, too, Scamp. You been staying out of trouble? Did you give Hoss a hard time?" he laughed, not really wanting a blow by blow report, but just checking generally.

"I been good as gold all week, Pa. Chores 'n all! But I'm just glad yer home. I've been good. I'm still being good, so I'll just head back to bed. But I wanted a hug when I heard you come in." Joe was really happy to see him back.

"Well I'm glad you did, son. You said your prayers already?" Ben asked, seeing his son nod his head. "All right then, you head back up to bed, and I'll come by in a few minutes to tuck you in. I've missed you both while I was away."

"OK, Pa. G'Night. Night, Hoss!" Joe called, as he scampered back up the stairs to his room. All felt right with the world again, once Pa was home. It was OK when he was away on business. It wasn't like Joe couldn't sleep or anything. But... the house just didn't feel right without Pa at home. He'd sleep the more soundly tonight.

Watching the boy head into his room, Hoss said, "He really has been good all week. Did his schoolwork, chores, helped out. Spent a little time after school with Billy and his pa a couple times, but still got all his work done and right on time for meals. I ain't got no complaints."

"That's good to hear, Hoss. Thank you so much for taking such good care at home when I have to be away. With Adam off in San Francisco right now, it's a lot to ask a 17 year old, to mind this ranch on your own. I'm really proud of you, and how good a job you do."

"Thanks, Pa, but we got good men here, too. So between our hands, and the foreman, and Hop Sing... it ain't that hard to take care of things for just a week at a time. I don't know how you do it with all the stuff to manage and then that book work, too. I'm just glad I don't have to mess with the journals and ledgers and contracts," Hoss said, nodding towards Ben's desk with his satchel sitting on it bulging from the seams with just those journals, ledgers, and contracts to be dealt with for the next couple days.

"One day, my son, you'll need to learn about all that, just as Adam has had to. They're as much a part of what makes the Ponderosa run as our cattle, horses, or timber. They're certainly going to keep me busy for the next couple days!"

"Well, better you than me, Pa. I'll deal with the fences and moving the brood herd from the north to middle pasture, and you can get the paperwork done this week."

"Fair enough, son. Now... let me go tuck Joseph in for the night, and we can relax for a bit. Fancy a game of checkers?"

"Sounds good, Pa. I'll set it up while you settle Little Joe," Hoss smiled as he got the board and pieces out to relax with Pa for a little while.

Ben opened Joe's door to see that he'd been good as his word, climbing back into bed and falling half asleep. Joe saw him come in and scooted over in the bed to make room for his Pa to sit. "Missed you, Pa. Did everything go all right in Carson City?"

"Yes, son. Everything's fine, and we'll have plenty of work to do this coming year. Plenty of work for you to do this summer, too. You'll get to learn and try a lot of new things. But for right now, you just go back to sleep and be ready for school tomorrow. I'm home, and everything is fine. I'll be around the house mostly for the next couple days, just catching up on paperwork, so mind your p's and q's. Not good days to get into mischief here... I'll be too close and I see too much!" Ben laughed as he tousled Joe's curly locks.

"Pfft!" Joe scoffed. "Doesn't matter WHERE you are, Pa. You're always too close and see too much when it comes to me getting into mischief."

"Now THAT'S true enough, my boy! Good night, now. Sleep tight." and Ben kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Aww... Pa! I'm too big for that!" Joe pretended to protest.

"No you aren't, and there's no one here to see! Now go to sleep!" Ben growled with a laugh, as he stood up and made his way to the door.

"Yes, sir. 'Night!" Joe called after him, secretly happy that he wasn't yet too big for a goodnight kiss on the head from his Pa. As he rolled over, snuggled into his blankets, and dropped off into the deep peaceful sleep of the righteous.

* * *

The next morning Joe was up bright and early, his make up assignment finished and saddlebags packed for school. He'd been very pleased, and more than a little surprised, to find that he'd been able to ride home Friday without too terribly much discomfort. He'd managed to stall about 30 minutes after his paddling before trying to mount his horse, and between the cushioning of the saddlepad and the quilted suede of the saddle seat, he could ride pretty well at an extended walk, or a single foot gait, though he needed to avoid a trot or even a lope until Sunday. It surprised him that he could sit supper without much discomfort. That paddle stung and burned like the dickens, but he wasn't bruised and the soreness didn't last very long, so that was a mercy.

As he saddled Cochise, he considered the upcoming day. He had all his schoolwork ready, and figured he'd be all right as far as class was concerned. But he wasn't looking forward to after school. He knew Miss Jones had invited him to settle for Friday's paddling and he could call it all good. But he still knew darned well that if it were up to Pa, or Pastor Fletcher, or even Adam... he'd be taking more than those 5 licks for what he did. No, he deserved the 11, so he'd volunteer to get it over with, even if it did mean another round sitting in a hornet's nest. Cochise had a really smooth single foot gait. It was just what Pa would decide afterwards that made him nervous.

He followed his instructions and just before riding out, while Pa was in the kitchen pouring another cup of coffee, Joe took Miss Jones' note and placed it prominently atop all the paperwork on his big desk. He knew Pa was headed there next with his coffee cup, so he hurried out to mount up and get down the road a piece before Ben could open and read the note. Joe got to the schoolhouse without incident, untacked Cochise, and went to play with Billy and his friends until school started.

The school day went by without a hitch. Joe dealt with that same weird time effect, sometimes feeling like the clock wasn't moving at all, and then other times seeming like it was racing to a finish line. Finally, 3:00 rolled around, and Miss Jones dismissed the class. Joe again dawdled with putting his things away, as he heard Pa's boots mount the front school steps as the last of the children headed down the lane.

"Afternoon, Miss Jones," Ben said, taking off his hat as he walked into the room.

"Afternoon, Mr. Cartwright. I'm so glad you could join us. I hope I didn't inconvenience you too much. I know you must be very busy having just gotten home," she smiled and extended her hand as Ben came over to shake it.

"No, ma'am. No inconvenience at all. I had to come into town to conduct a little business anyway, and I'm never too busy to meet with you about Joe if you feel it's important." Pa gave Joe a concerned look, unsure whether to be angry, worried, or what.

"Well, Mr. Cartwright, I appreciate that. And I do think this meeting is important, but it is not because I have any complaint at all about Joseph's behavior. In fact, I am very proud of his deportment, and I expect you will be as well."

It may sound unkind to say that Ben's expression showed genuine surprise, but it did. It wasn't because he lacked pride in his son, but rather just that a note sent home from school was not a typical harbinger for such pride. He was confused, but realized he had stepped into the middle of a story, so he decided to wait and get the facts before determining his mood.

"Let me catch you up on the details. Last week, Joseph discovered that an academic practice in which he had been engaging was not appropriate or acceptable. In fact, he had... mostly unwittingly... violated some rather strict policies of my teaching. When he learned of this, through a homework assignment, his conscience would not allow him to let it go unaddressed. Therefore, without any prompting or being caught out, he did the honorable thing and came to me, making a full and frank confession of his... erm... misdeeds. Are you with me so far, Mr. Cartwright?" she asked, with a slight smile and twinkle in her eye.

"I think so, Miss Jones," Ben replied, with an interested look and a calm voice that acknowledged that whatever had gone on, she surely had command of the situation.

"Good. Now, I doubt our young man had totally 'clean hands' even at the beginning of his misadventure. To some extent, particularly as he continued to hide what he looked upon originally as whacking good fortune, he was most likely aware that his conduct was out of order. However, once it became totally clear to him, he immediately sought redress, and threw himself 'on the mercy of the court' so to speak, even knowing that the penalties could be quite harsh."

"I see," Ben rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "May I ask the nature of these misdeeds, and their penalties?"

"You may, but just bear with me a few moments longer and all will become clear," she replied. "I want you to know that when your son confessed, we went over some of the remedial work to be done, along with the fact that the consequences for this include a paddling. He made no objection, and when I asked how many swats he felt would be fair, he volunteered twice as many as I felt appropriate. When I voiced my opinion, and asked if he wanted to reconsider, he respectfully acknowledged my judgment, honestly said he wished he could agree, but felt he deserved the higher number.

"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Cartwright, I've never had such a thing happen before, and I have developed the utmost respect for Joseph's integrity and character. Please accept that from me as a great compliment to you as a father."

Ben looked down at his toes, just a little embarrassed at the praise, but feeling a warm flush of pride at his son's efforts to make things right. "I see," was all he said.

"Now, having said THAT, I will say that the misbehavior involved was a form of cheating," she paused as Ben's eyes looked up with a momentary flash of anger. "HOWEVER, it was a rather subtle form that Joseph had never even heard of before his homework assignment last week. Joe plagiarized some schoolwork of Adam's from years ago, that he found in a trunk Adam had asked him to go find and use for books for his assignments. He found drafts and notebooks of Adam's, and reworked Adam's reports into his own."

Slowly the light dawned in Ben's mind. "So the improved grades in composition, grammar, all that..."

"Correct, Mr. Cartwright. Joseph was indeed writing the reports and essays, so some of the credit goes rightly to him. But the reasoning and insights..."

"Were Adam's," Ben finished for her, smiling.

"Indeed. Now, bear in mind, Joseph was entirely forthcoming with me about the whole thing, because when he realized this was a form of cheating, his conscience would allow him no peace. In accordance with my policy on cheating he has received a Zero on each of the plagiarized works, he is rewriting them on his own, responding to notes I wrote on them to redirect his thinking. The grades he receives on the rewrites will be penalized one full grade point on his record. He has been kept after school twice thus far, today will be a third time. The first day he was detained was when we discussed this matter for the first time, last Thursday. We reviewed his penalties, and I sent him home to consider his punishment. The next day, after due consideration, we discussed his conclusions and Joseph was paddled, five serious swats, which was the recommendation I had originally made."

"So is that your decision, Miss Jones? That Joseph receive five swats?" Ben asked.

"It is not, Mr. Cartwright. I have found Joseph to be very sensitive to conscience. He is very determined not to be considered a thief, a liar, or a cheat. When last we spoke, Joe did not yet feel he had satisfied the demands of justice, and felt he had earned eleven swats for his actions... in part because he submitted eleven false pieces of work. Friday, after his paddling, I said I would leave it to him to determine if we were finished or if he wanted the remaining swats today. I have not yet asked him his decision." Miss Jones turned from addressing Ben, to Joseph for the first time. "What is your decision, Joseph? Are you satisfied with the punishment you've received, or do you feel the remainder is due?"

"Please don't think I'm not grateful, Miss Jones. But I'd feel like I was getting away cheap on those other six assignments. They were just as wrong as the first five. Maybe more, 'cause I got more and more uncomfortable as the weeks went by. So... if it's all the same with you, ma'am..." and Joe's voice just trailed off.

Both Ben and Miss Jones worked to mask their slight smiles as she said, "Very well, then. I understand your feelings and admire your sense of justice. Please close the doors and windows, and then you know what to do. I see you are wearing lighter clothing than on Friday. Is your shirttail...?"

"Yes'm. I'll pull it up."

While Joe got ready, Miss Jones described her first attempt at paddling Little Joe, ending the narrative with her speculation that Joe had found a diplomatic way around suggesting that Miss Jones 'hit like a girl', and discovered that not to be the case. She explained that when she paddled students Joe's size and smaller, it was generally much less severe.

"Mr. Cartwright, would you prefer to stay, or to wait outside?" Miss Jones asked, as Joe handed her the paddle.

"No, ma'am. If it's all the same with you, I'd rather stay." Ben answered.

"That's fine, sir. Now, please bear in mind, this is normally reserved for more upper division older boys, and only for serious infractions like hurtful pranks, fighting, or defiance. Please don't think little ones are paddled this way." She turned to Joseph, who had positioned himself, pulled out his shirttail, and grasped the opposite edge of the desk. She again folded the shirt up along his back, giving her clear access to her target.

"Are you ready, Joseph? This will be just the same as Friday. You will keep the count and set the pace." she declared, as she positioned herself to his left.

"Yes'm, ready," he answered.

Ben stood off to the side as Miss Jones administered the identical paddling she'd given Joseph on Friday. Her questions to Joseph, and timing remained the same, so that he had control of the flow and could maintain his self control. Ben watched both of them, and noticed the nuances of her discipline. He hated having to discipline his children from time to time, and he could see that she took no pleasure in chastening children either. He blinked in sympathy at the two hard swats at the beginning, and then noticed with approval that the next three swats just reinforced those first two, adding little to the actual trauma. He also noted, with approval, that each swat was used to reinforce the message of the reason for its administration, so that a child acknowledged the misdeed or affirmation being enforced. After the fifth swat, Miss Jones stopped and told Joseph he could get up. Again, he brushed the threatening tears from his eyes onto his sleeve as he stood, and ever so gingerly started to tuck his shirt back in... surreptitiously rubbing his backside for a bit of comfort.

"Joseph," she began, "I simply don't have the heart to give you that eleventh whack. If you still feel it's deserved by Friday, I'll give it then. On those rare occasions when I have to paddle a student, I usually try to do that on a Friday, so they don't have to sit on those benches all through the next day. But I feel confident that you've learned your lesson, you've been justly and adequately punished, and I will not put this wood to you again today. When you are ready, you may put this away."

Joe sniffled just a bit, as he took the paddle from her hand and hung it back on the wall in its proper place.

"Now, Mr. Cartwright. I asked you here both so we could have this conference and so you could see, if Joseph was resolved to take these licks, the nature of his paddling. I know your policy on punishment at school, and your support at home. I wouldn't dream of interfering in your parenting. 'Your house, your rules' by all means. But I wanted you to see his paddling so that you could make an informed decision on whether any further chastisement was called for. If you would consider my view, I would posit that Joseph has adequately learned his lesson."

Ben had readily seen, and was very grateful for, her not-so-hidden agenda inviting him to witness Joseph's punishment. She'd not been exceedingly harsh, nor hesitant and waffling. She'd been willing to forego it entirely, had Joe been equally willing. But she had readily succeeded in making him aware that Joe's misbehavior was adequately addressed by her and that paddle. There was no further issue of necessary punishment.

However, there was a further issue of honor to be dealt with.

"Thank you, Miss Jones," he replied. "I agree with you on almost every point. Joseph was out of order in his plagiarism, but has shown truly admirable character in holding himself accountable to you and to school rules and consequences. I am, indeed, very proud of him. I am also proud that he did not choose 'cheap retribution' in light of his conviction of wrongdoing, but remained resolved to pay the price his conscience dictated. I could see that was difficult for you to bear, and I thank you for your dedication to teaching and correcting my son even through that difficulty.

"But just as you and this school have rules and policies, so do I and my house. I have made a promise to each of my sons, Joseph included, and I always keep my word... Joseph?"

"Yes, Pa?"

"What's our rule about a school paddling and note home?" he asked in a serious, but not angry, tone.

Joe tried to hold his nerve, as his hopes seemed about to be dashed. "If I get paddled in school, and there's a note home, then I'll get hided with your belt, too."

"Have I ever broken my word, or failed on a promise to you, son?"

"No, sir," he sighed.

"Well, since Miss Jones has been kind enough to bring us together so I can understand her discipline of you, I believe it's only right that I return the compliment. Leave your shirt tail in, son, but go back to that desk and assume the position, please," Ben said calmly, as he began to remove his belt.

"But, Pa... Please..." Joe didn't quite whimper, but tears threatened at his eyelashes again.

"Are you arguing with me, Joseph?" in a warning tone.

"No, sir. Sorry..." he said, as he bent over and grabbed the edge of the desk. He could have ridden home all right as things were. But if he took a belt whuppin' on top of this, now... getting home would be torturous.

"The two of you have discussed Joe's resolve that he take 11 licks for his cheating... Joseph?" Ben had pulled his belt free of its loops, doubled it in his hand, but wrapped it twice around his fist to shorten the lash of it, greatly reducing the impact with which it would strike. "Did you just take a school paddling, son?"

"Yes, sir. I did." Joe closed his eyes prepared for the worst.

Ben drew back about 90 degrees, "Thwap!" giving Joe a lick across the backside that was little more than noise. He knew the blow would only barely waken the paddle's sting he was still recovering from, and add nothing at all to his discomfort. Nonetheless, Ben had kept his word, and his rules were intact.

Joe hadn't moved a muscle, eyes closed and fists clenched tight around the desk's edge, thinking his Pa was just getting aim and distance, and that was a warm up.

"All right, son. We're finished. You can get up now," Ben said, as he began to rethread his belt through the loops.

"Pa?" Joe's voice expressed his confusion. "You mean... that's IT? We're done?"

"It is, we are... unless like with Miss Jones, you feel that expression of my displeasure was not adequate. I can certainly apply a few more serious licks, if you..."

"No, no, no, Pa. That's fine!" Joe jerked up like a puppet whose string was suddenly drawn tight. "Got it, Pa. Displeasure, kept your word. Got it."

"Good," Ben laughed as Miss Jones joined in the mutual merriment. "I too can temper justice with mercy, and since you were spoiling for 11 swats to recompense your 11 false reports, there's your last swat. I don't mind capping off a good paddling with a lick of my belt. Just don't think that kind of a hiding is going to happen very frequently, young man."

"No, sir. Got it. Well, I think I'll go saddle Cochise if I may be excused. Thank you, Miss Jones. I really appreciate..." and he didn't know how to say _"your managing my Pa"_ without getting in trouble, so he just left things there.

She laughed, totally understanding what he couldn't say, "You're excused Joseph. Go saddle your horse. And don't you dare forget those make up assignments. Or I'll have you writing lines until the spring calf branding."

"No, ma'am. I won't. I promise," Joe called out as he trotted happily to the paddock.

"Thank you for everything, Miss Jones," Ben said, shaking her hand. "I understand that you are perfectly capable of disciplining my son when he's earned it. I'll not change my rule about school punishment and notes, but do feel free to indicate your preference in your notes. If you feel he's adequately chastened when he leaves here, let me know I need only a 'token of displeasure'. On the other hand, if he needs more than the five swats you can bear to administer, please let me know that, too."

"Fair enough, Mr. Cartwright. That's a deal. And please know how much I admire his spirit, and how proud I would be if he were my son. He's truly a pleasure to have in class... most of the time," she laughed.

"Ah, yes. I know that feeling so well. Thank you for being such a fine teacher, and of much more than reading, 'riting, and 'rithmatic. You train the heart as well as the mind. Thank you."

"Have a fine day back home with your sons, sir," she blessed, as he walked out to mount Buck and ride around the building to join Joe.

"Well, son," Ben spoke to Joe as he cinched up his saddle. "What say you and I head over for some Ice Cream, while your backside cools off enough to ride home. You can eat your cone standing, if you want."

Joe smiled ruefully, "Thanks, Pa. Yer all heart."

"I live to serve, son. Now, let's see how Cochise does with that single foot, shall we?"

And Joe laughed as he mounted carefully, and they rode ever so gingerly towards the sweets shop.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I hope you've enjoyed this little story. I love(d) Bonanza, and even had a chance to see Lorne Green in person many years ago. He apologized that Hoss wasn't with him, but he'd had to stay at home to straighten his horse. (HE said it, not me.) Feel free to review, comment, or contribute ideas. Thanks for reading. Grace to you - Mort_


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